


Explorations of the Flock

by genarti



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bahorel's wacky family (in passing), Friendship, Geese, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genarti/pseuds/genarti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel, Prouvaire, and a yard full of poultry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explorations of the Flock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kvikindi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kvikindi/gifts).



> Written for the prompt, [Bahorel and Prouvaire, a journey to the country](http://artificialities.tumblr.com/post/76365345104/bahorel-and-prouvaire-a-journey-to-the-country).
> 
> For the record: [the Toulouse goose](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toulouse_goose).

"And then, geese. They’re quite lovely. I’m sure their fellow geese must also agree. Are they very temperamental?"

"Oh yes. Vicious creatures. I have the greatest respect for goosegirls! Some of them may be angels, shepherding their evil charges towards the light — at least the dinner table, which is a benefit for us poor sinners, by example or no — but my recollection from childhood is that the majority are devils themselves. They keep their charges in line through fear and the natural respect of one diabolical soul for another."

"So you flirted with them."

"Naturally." Bahorel lapsed for a moment into fond recollection.

Prouvaire boosted himself up slightly higher on the fence, so as to lean over the pen at a more precarious angle. Fortunately it was sturdy, having been tested by numerous Bahorel relations of various ages and weights. “I have always wondered if geese gently reared would be kinder and more patient. Like humans, is moral behavior in them contagious? —But this is the wrong household for such a line of inquiry. Bahorel geese will inevitably be quarrelsome.”

Bahorel cackled. The sound was sufficiently like the squabbling of the geese that Prouvaire shot him an unnerved look. “How well you know me.”

He folded his arms upon the top rail. Silence fell briefly.

It was broken by Prouvaire’s low cry. “Oh! You have one of those! I have seen them in the poultry yards in Paris — I have meant to ask the farmers, but never quite remembered — it is so easy to get distracted. What is that thing on the creature’s head? There, below the beak. What is its purpose? I thought perhaps it was related to the size — several of the geese I’ve seen have been practically spherical — but not this one.”

Bahorel regarded him with amiable astonishment. “It’s only the breed. That’s a Toulouse goose. It has a flap of skin — you can take a closer look if you’re willing to risk a bite. The fat ones are for foie gras, which we don’t bother with much around here. It’s always seemed to me a peculiarly bourgeois ambition for a goose. Or perhaps aristocratic: persuade the bourge-oie to gorge himself beyond all sense, and rule over his waddling impotence, and dine well. I refuse to inflict it on them. Delicious, though. Good God, Jehan, you _are_ a city boy.”

"I know." Prouvaire dangled his arms disconsolately over the fence’s top rail. "I feel at a tremendous disadvantage for communing with nature. Other times I content myself that I can at least approach a meadow with fresh eyes, with wonder and ignorance. _Only a flap of skin_ , indeed. You sound like Combeferre.”

Bahorel burst into laughter. “Poor Jehan! Very well, come along, you can commune with the geese to your heart’s content. Their beaks will commune with your ankles, most likely, and then you will have noble suffering to embrace too. Don’t glare at me, I know whereof I speak, and I’d show you the scars if my trousers were less tight. Up and over the fence with you.”


End file.
